Rough Justice (52 page)

‘And by “we” you mean . . .?’

Coker waved the question away as he burped loudly. ‘That’s for down the line,’ he said. ‘What I’m telling you now is by way of background.’ He leaned forward. ‘I know you’re a sheep-shagger, but you’ve been in London long enough to see the way things are here, right?’

‘I’m not Welsh, Lurpak. And I don’t shag sheep.’

‘You’re not from the city, though. And the city is a whole different ballgame. We’ve got gangbangers on every street corner, feral kids running wild, no-go areas, knife crime, drive-by shootings, and we’ve got a criminal justice system that can’t cope. We’ve got beat cops who are so weighed down with paperwork that they’re scared of making arrests. We’ve got fat cops, short cops, cops who’ve been hired because of their ethnic background rather than their abilities, we’ve got magistrates who think that burglars and muggers can be punished with warnings and probation, and we’ve got prisons so full that murderers and rapists are being put back on the streets early. But more than anything what we’ve got is a criminal population who don’t fear the system any more. They know that the cops are powerless, that the judges are weak and that in prison they’ll get TV and PlayStations and gyms and the European Court of Human Rights to appeal to if they feel hard done by, all at the taxpayer’s expense.’

‘Bloody hell, Lurpak, that’s one hell of a speech.’

‘I’m telling you what most cops think. It’s just that in the PC world we live in, no one can say it.’

‘But I get the feeling you’re not just talking, right?’

‘Right,’ agreed Coker.

‘So what’s the gun for? Keeping it for a rainy day?’

Coker put down his lager, interlinked his fingers and leaned forward. ‘I’m taking a risk, talking to you like this.’

‘Not really,’ said Shepherd. ‘If I was going to say anything about the gun the time to say it was when we were in the room or back at the station. The fact I didn’t means I’m in deep shit if it comes out now.’

‘You could go running to the commander.’

‘I could, but then I’d have to explain why I didn’t say anything at the time.’

‘And why didn’t you?’

‘Like I said, I’m the newbie. I don’t want to make waves while I’m still wet behind the ears.’ He smiled. ‘Besides, worst that can happen is that I just say I didn’t say anything. I can’t be punished for that.’

‘And that’s what you’d say if you were asked?’

‘Hear no, see no, speak no,’ said Shepherd.

Coker nodded thoughtfully, then drained his can and stood up. ‘Okay,’ he said.

‘Okay?’ said Shepherd. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I’m off,’ said Coker.

‘And then what?’

‘I’ve got to talk to someone.’

‘The Masked Avenger?’

Coker grinned. ‘Yeah.’

‘And then what?’

‘Then we’ll see what he says.’

Shepherd frowned. ‘Lurpak, I don’t understand what’s happening here. Did you just come to see if I was going to drop you in the shit? Or is there something more going on?’

Coker tapped the side of his nose. ‘Secret Squirrel,’ he said.

‘Screw you.’ Shepherd drank from his can. ‘Screw you and screw the Masked Avenger.’

‘Look, we have to take this slowly,’ said Coker.

‘Take what slowly?’

Coker sighed. ‘You’re a good guy, Three-amp. I know that. And I want you on board.’

‘On board what?’

‘I can’t tell you, not until we all agree.’

‘Who’s we?’

Coker tapped the side of his nose again.

‘I know, I know, Secret bloody Squirrel,’ said Shepherd, feigning irritation. ‘If it helps you decide, I’ll do whatever I have to do if it means putting the bad guys away. If it’s a matter of egging the pudding, I’m up for it.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘But it’s not you that calls the shots, right?’

‘There are others involved, yeah.’

‘Gary Dawson?’

Coker frowned. ‘What?’

‘Just a feeling I had, that’s all. He doesn’t seem happy with the way things are going.’

‘Gary’s a straight arrow.’

‘Foggy, then?’

‘We’re not playing Twenty Questions here,’ said Coker, putting on his gloves. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Shepherd raised his can in salute. ‘Drive carefully,’ he said. ‘You can see yourself out, yeah?’

Coker flashed him a thumbs-up. Shepherd waited until he heard the front door close before hurrying upstairs. He went into the front bedroom and watched Coker drive away, then pulled out his mobile and called Charlotte Button. He brought her up to speed on what Coker had said.

‘Excellent,’ said Button. ‘Did Coker say when you’d get to meet the rest of them?’

‘He’ll get back to me. I think his first concern was what I was going to say about the gun.’

‘And this Masked-Avenger, Caped-Crusader character? Any idea who he might be?’

‘He was cagey about that,’ said Shepherd. ‘He was feeling me out. But it’s not Gary Dawson. He definitely ruled him out.’

‘And you made all the right noises?’

‘No, I said I was calling three nines and turning them in,’ said Shepherd.

‘I wasn’t trying to teach my grandmother to suck eggs,’ said Button. ‘So what happens next?’

‘I guess he reports back to the rest of them, and if I get a vote of confidence they take me into the fold.’

‘Excellent,’ said Button. ‘Full steam ahead.’

‘How far do I take it?’ asked Shepherd.

‘All the way,’ said Button. ‘We need to catch them in the act. I doubt that we’ll be able to get any of them to roll over on the others so we need them red-handed.’

Shepherd felt his stomach lurch. He didn’t like the idea of betraying the men in the first place, but doing it up close and personal made it that much worse. The last thing he wanted was to be there when they were arrested.

‘And I’m going to need you wired up. I’ll send Amar around.’

‘I strip off in front of these guys every morning and night,’ said Shepherd.

‘How lovely for you,’ said Button. ‘I think Amar can be creative on that front so don’t worry.’

‘I’m not worried,’ said Shepherd.

‘Good to hear it. So, I had a very strange phone call from a detective sergeant in Hereford.’

‘Hollis,’ said Shepherd.

‘Wanted to know your whereabouts during the week.’

‘Yeah, sorry about that. Some guy I had an argument with has disappeared. I think they’re checking up on everyone. Were you able to put him right?’

‘He wanted details of the operation you’re on so I had his assistant chief constable call him to explain the error of his ways. He won’t be bothering you again.’

‘Thanks for that, Charlie.’

‘That’s what I’m here for,’ she said. ‘Anyway, well done with Coker. Call me as soon as you know more.’ She ended the call.

Shepherd went down to the sitting room and sat on the sofa. The remains of his bacon sandwich lay on its plate but he had lost his appetite.

Early on Friday morning Shepherd was dragged out of a dreamless sleep by the insistent ringing of his mobile phone. The caller had blocked their number but Shepherd took the call, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

‘Rise and shine,’ said a voice. Amar Singh.

‘Bloody hell, what time is it?’ said Shepherd, sitting up.

‘Six,’ said Singh. ‘Charlie said I should catch you before you go to work.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Outside.’

‘Give me a minute.’ Shepherd ended the call, pulled on a shirt and trousers and padded downstairs.

Singh was on his doorstep, wearing a different leather jacket from the one he’d had on last time they’d met, and a pair of pristine jet black jeans. He nodded at his car in the road. ‘Do you think it’s safe to leave it there?’ he asked. ‘It’s not the best of areas.’

‘The car-jackers will be fast asleep this time of the morning,’ said Shepherd. ‘Like I should be.’ He stepped aside to let Singh in. ‘How much do you spend on clothes, Amar?’ he asked, as he showed the technician into the kitchen.

‘It’s my only vice,’ said Singh.

‘That jacket’s Armani, right?’ said Shepherd, switching on the kettle.

‘This one? Nah, this is Prada. Red deer.’ He held out his arm. ‘Feel it, it’s like butter.’

‘Thanks but I’ll pass,’ said Shepherd. ‘How do you afford gear like that?’

Singh laughed. ‘Overtime,’ he said. ‘Lots and lots of overtime.’

‘Is that the real reason why you turned up on my doorstep at this unearthly hour? They give you time and a half?’

‘I resent the implication of that,’ said Singh. He nodded at the kettle. ‘White with two sugars,’ he said.

‘You know Charlie’s leaving SOCA?’ asked Shepherd, leaning against the kitchen counter.

‘That’s the word on the street.’

‘She didn’t tell you?’

Singh shrugged. ‘Why would she? I’m just a foot-soldier.’

‘Would you go with her to Five? If she asked?’

‘I don’t see that she would,’ said Singh. ‘Five’s got the best techs in the business – it’s not as if I’d be taking anything to the table. They get stuff direct from the CIA and the Pentagon, gear that we’ll never see at SOCA. Plus the pay deal I’m on would take some beating. I don’t think Five get the overtime rates we get, and I can’t believe what a great pension they gave me when I moved over from the Met.’

‘Might get a better class of work,’ suggested Shepherd.

‘I’m technical, remember? The job’s pretty much the same for me no matter who the target is. Speaking of which . . .’ He reached into his jacket and took out a black Nokia N95, a double of the one Shepherd already had. ‘Let me have your phone and I’ll swap the Sim card,’ he said.

Shepherd handed it over and then made two mugs of coffee. Singh opened the back of Shepherd’s phone and slotted the Sim card into the one he’d brought with him. ‘Same make, same style, looks the same, but this one acts as a listening device as well,’ said Singh, as he powered up the phone. ‘It’s got GPS too so we’ll always know where it is. The neat thing is that the microphone only kicks in when you switch the phone off. The GPS is on all the time, whether the phone is off or on.’ He scrolled through the menu. ‘So, when you think you’re in a situation that you want recording, switch it off.’ He showed Shepherd the button on the top of the phone. ‘Keep pressing it until it powers down. Once you do that it starts sending everything it hears through the telecom system to our computer. So there’s no range problems, so long as you’re in contact with a mobile-phone mast, we can hear everything you say and we know exactly where you are.’ He handed the Nokia to Shepherd. ‘The one problem is the battery,’ he said. ‘Perversely, when it’s switched off the power consumption goes up because it starts transmitting. The battery will go flat in about six hours. So the way to go is to keep it switched on normally and only switch it off when you’re ready to transmit. And charge it as often as you can.’

‘How do you know when it’s transmitting?’

‘It goes through to a SOCA monitoring station, and as soon as it starts transmitting Charlie will get a call. They can then tell her what’s being said or provide her with a live feed. And, of course, it’s all recorded.’ He put Shepherd’s original phone into his pocket. ‘Charlie says we should work out a code phrase so that we can send in the cavalry if necessary.’

‘Good idea,’ said Shepherd. ‘How about “I’m not happy about this”? That covers a multitude of sins.’

‘I’ll tell her,’ said Singh.

‘Do you want to write it down?’

Singh laughed. ‘My memory isn’t as good as yours, but I’ll manage. I’ll tell you what else – we can program it in so that when you say those words a red flag flashes.’

‘That’s good to hear,’ said Shepherd. ‘I just hope that the cavalry is ready to ride because the guys I’ll be with won’t mess around.’

‘Heavy?’

‘Very,’ said Shepherd. He gave Singh his coffee.

‘Thanks. So, what about you? Have you heard who’ll be taking over from Charlie?’

‘She said as soon as she knows I’ll know.’

‘And will you go with her to Five?’

‘She hasn’t asked.’

‘Think she will?’

‘I just don’t know, Amar,’ he said. ‘I get the feeling that at the moment she’s more concerned about her own career prospects.’

Shepherd’s team spent Friday morning carrying out high-visibility stop-and-searches in Wembley. They were heading to Wembley police station for lunch when Fogg got a call on his radio. Parry was driving and the sergeant called out for him to turn around and head to Harlesden. ‘We’ve got a bailiff who’s bitten off more than he can chew,’ said Fogg.

Helping bailiffs was a regular part of the TSG’s workload. With rising unemployment and a faltering economy, more and more people were falling into debt, and the banks and building societies were sending in bailiffs to get what money they could. To Shepherd it appeared, more often than not, that the financial institutions were trying to get blood out of a stone. Not surprisingly, people wanted to keep what little they had in the way of assets, and at the first sign of trouble the bailiffs would call the police. The locals cops didn’t like dealing with house seizures so whenever they could they’d try to pass the buck to the TSG.

By the time they had reached the address, Gary Dawson’s team was already there and out of their van, putting on riot gear and stacking up their long shields. ‘What’s the story, Gary?’ asked Fogg.

Dawson gestured at the house. It was semi-detached with a garage next to it. The garage door was open revealing a ten-year-old Renault. ‘Bailiffs called around about an hour ago. A white male and a black female inside. Keith and Pearl Johnson. Mr Johnson is behind on his mortgage repayments to the tune of eight grand and the building society wants him out.’ He nodded at a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit who was standing next to two heavily built men in bomber jackets. ‘The suit is a lawyer from the building society, the heavies with him are the bailiffs. All the paperwork’s in order.’